IF TRUTH BE TOLD

                    I don’t know what I think until I see
                    What putting pen to paper brings to me;
                    Just vaguely musing in an idle mood
                    Proves nothing but a fruitless interlude;
                    The way a verse emerges, line by line,
                    Foot after foot, revealing its design
                    Is but a function of exigency
                    That seeking rhyme and meter brings to be—                    
                    Though if well done, a verse like this will seem  
                    The manifest expression of a dream.

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